Losing at Chess
by Ariaeris
Summary: MWAHA 'verse. Everything that might have once been perfect is crumbling, and Marcus is convinced that in the end, through all the good times and the bad times shared, nothing has ever changed; everything has remained accursedly stagnant. Marcus/Harry.
1. Chapter 1: Check

As a response to Vaire's serious fic, Consequences of Coming Out, which was a response to my humorous fic, Coming Out: Fabulously, I decided to jump on the angst train and ride it all the way to Depression Station!

Now, as Vaire so masterfully pointed out in CoCO (Coco! Sorry; it's too late to be doing these author notes), my humorous fic was a little over the top. No duh, Vaire, it had a marching band in it; of course it was over the top. The real point though was that Harry would really never come out so blatantly right after Voldemort had been resurrected, because it would put Marcus in danger. This led to a manipulative Dumbledore practically forcing Marcus into the position of a spy for the Light, which would undoubtedly cast a lot of stress and pain on Marcus.

So why would Harry do such a thing when he knew it would only end up getting his lover hurt?

Here is the answer to that question; a (hopefully) deep look into a screwed up, frightened Harry who grew up too soon and is about to find his favorite toy perilously close to being destroyed.

Enjoy~

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_**Losing at Chess**_

_Chapter 1: Check_

_The mistakes are all there waiting to be made._

_- Chessmaster Savielly Grigorievitcyh Tartakower_

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Why the fuck had he thought this was a good idea?

Harry was pacing in his room in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, anxious for his lover to return. Marcus had been out for most of the night, not an uncommon occurrence considering that they weren't living together yet, but Harry was more concerned with where Marcus was than anything else.

Marcus, maybe at this very second, was being initiated into Voldemort's forces.

Harry shuddered disgustedly at the thought. He didn't even want to think of what Marcus must be going through, though the insane amusement that was coming through his link with Voldemort was not boding well, but he knew that it was his duty to reap what he had sown.

It was entirely his fault after all that Marcus was in the process of becoming a Death Eater.

His plan had started at their coming out event; Harry had gone all out, forcing Marcus to basically humiliate himself for what seemed like his own entertainment. That was not the only reason he had wanted them to come out so fabulously though; by being so obvious about their relationship, he had landed them right on both Dumbledore and Voldemort's radars.

As he had predicted, Dumbledore had jumped at the chance to have a second spy within Voldemort's forces and had practically forced Marcus into that position. Voldemort had then taken his bait as well, and Marcus had almost instantly been given a high position in the Death Eater rankings due to his blood and his relationship with _the Boy-Who-Lived_ (which Marcus had been told to exploit and lie about in order to get as powerful as position as possible), making him privy to secrets that Snape just couldn't be due to being a half-blood.

His plan had gone off without a hitch; Marcus was now a high ranking Death Eater, they had two spies in Voldemort's forces, no one would be able to try and separate him and Marcus now lest they send one or both of them off to the Dark because of their actions, and the war that was just beginning to heat up would end all the sooner because of Marcus' contributions.

Cold, concise, logical.

Harry had never been more sickened with himself.

No matter how hard he tried or what he did, he was not cut out to be a manipulator; he could not contend with the likes of Dumbledore or Voldemort there. His first dabble in that, while successful, had reduced him to worrying himself out of his mind because of his absent lover.

God, Marcus didn't even know what he had done! Harry had worked to keep their relationship safe and to assure them a safer future, and Marcus didn't even know. How had he felt when Harry had raised not a single objection to Dumbledore's plan that had so neatly fit his own? Had he felt betrayed, angry, upset, hurt?

Harry shivered, sinking to his - their bed. What if Marcus never came back? Even though Marcus was a skilled occlumens, who is to say that Voldemort wasn't a more powerful legilimens and would find out about Marcus being a double agent? And what if he did come back and he was forever scarred by what he saw - what he had done? Would he ever forgive him if he was told what his lover, the person he trusted above all else, had done to him?

Harry clutched his chest; it felt like his heart was being stabbed by an icy dagger, but he knew he wasn't good enough for such a mercy.

It didn't even matter if they lost an advantage in the war, if they lost their second spy. It didn't matter that Marcus would have gone if Harry had asked him to, willingly and without hesitation. It didn't matter if Marcus never forgave him for what he had done.

He just wanted Marcus to come home, safe and sound.

He cried bitterly. He had gotten all he had wanted, all his plans had come to fruition, and only now had he begun to regret? He was so selfish if that was the case.

Harry stood up from their bed shakily, stumbling to the bedroom door. He had to tell someone, tell anyone that he needed Marcus, that Marcus was too important to ruin by being a Death Eater.

It was useless though; who would support him? Half of his friends hated him because of their relationship or thought him cursed, and the other half was too far away to be of any assistance. What, was he supposed to send an owl to Viktor or Fleur, begging for their assistance?

He would, in a heartbeat, if it meant that Marcus would be safe.

Harry leaned against the door tiredly, jiggling the doorknob. Locked. Even now people knew he would regret his actions, would go after his lover and try to keep him safe from harm.

Harry laughed brokenly, sinking to his knees in front of the door. Was he supposed to wait here, twiddling his thumbs until Marcus came home, blood and beaten and scarred for life?

Another broken chuckle. How many people had felt just this way when he had risked his life to stop Voldemort?

A mirror across the room mocked him; not with words for Harry had silenced it long ago for commenting on his tears making his face look runny, but with the person sitting within it. The teary man looked back at him, looking so god forsakenly forlorn and upset that Harry leapt to his feet, shattering it with a burst of anger-filled magic.

He had no right to be upset; not when he had gotten everything he had wanted.

"Marcus, Marcus, Marcus," The name fell off his lips like a litany, like a prayer, as Harry sank back to the ground, burying his face in his hands.

Please come home.

I need you.

I love you.

…Please don't leave me.

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Poor Harry...are we supposed to feel sorry for him or not? He tried his hand at manipulation, but it proved to be too much for him. He's too kind, too empathetic, he loves Marcus too much, and yet he now has to deal with the results of his imperfectly perfect manipulations.

Tell me; what do you think of this recent revelation? Was it shocking? Did you wonder what was going on after Harry forced Marcus to fabulously come out with him? Or do you just want me to update something else instead of indulging in this mindless angst-fest?

Review and tell me!

...God, it has been awhile since I so blatantly begged for reviews like that. I have to contemplate this regression as I type up Marcus' fucked up thoughts as he takes part in his first Death Eater mission.

Oh! Was that the sound of all your interests being perked by the new idea?

Ariaeris~


	2. Chapter 2: Capitulation

First Harry and now Marcus; the perfect relationship we thought they shared is slowly, but surely, being deconstructed with every word typed.

Not much can be said about grief except that it is one of the most powerful driving forces known to man; similar to love, not dissimilar or dissociated from rage.

And from the monsters lurking at the darker regions of the mind to the most innocent of beings untouched by the world, grief is just another burden placed upon them; and everything breaks after carrying too much weight.

There is something ironic about lovers star-crossed by their own actions.

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**_Losing at Chess_**

_Chapter 2: Capitulation_

_The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves. _

_- Sophocles_

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Jeers and laughter colored the air and joyous partying ensued as the group celebrated the completion of their successful mission. Drinks and food passed readily, and the dark night was alit by the softly flickering fires of the rural muggle village they had earlier razed to the ground.

Marcus had already thrown up twice, yet his stomach roiled as he watched his merry…companions.

The first time had been right after he had received the Mark (his arm throbbed painfully in remembrance) and been able to escape the ever-watching eyes of his fellow Death Eaters (a sneer - he would never consider himself one of them).

The second time had occurred after he killed his first man. The pitiable muggle had been the most recent plaything of that LeStrange bitch, and he had been gibbering madly when Marcus had found him. Unfortunately for the man, Lucius had discovered him as well and thought that he would be the perfect test of Marcus' newfound loyalty to the Dark Lord.

Two words and a part of his soul was dead. He was only thankful that the eldest Malfoy had not forced him to torture the man; his position as a spy would have bee compromised, for he would never had been able to do such a thing.

Still, his hands shook as he remembered the thankful gaze the muggle had cursed him with, marking him forever as his savior in death.

Marcus quickly glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes half-crazed; it felt like some invisible specter hung over him, leaning on his shoulder, whispering to all those who would listen that he was a _murderer_.

It was a stain on his soul, one that would forever remain - even if he managed to hide his deplorable secret, even if he could some how make himself out to be completely innocent in the eyes of the world, he would still know the true nature of his character.

And Harry would know.

Marcus bit his lip harshly, blood dripping from the self-inflicted wound as he repressed a mournful sob. The moment he saw him, Harry would know what had happened; would know that he had taken the life of another.

And he would hate him.

_**Monster**_.

Harry, still pure and naïve to the darker ways of the world would finally realize when everyone had always known; what Marcus had always known.

_**Monster.**_

It would kill him, he knew, if Harry learned what he had become. He had invested too much in the savior's love, let down too many of the walls around his closely-guarded heart; once Harry learned what he was, once Harry rejected him, he would…

The revelry hit an uproar and Marcus' snarl of rage went unheard. This was their fault - all their fault! The Death Eaters, Dumbledore, everyone! They had forced him into this position, forced him to become a _**monster**_ - they had made him relinquish the only thing in the world that mattered to him. That kept him _human_.

Harry, beautiful Harry who had never raised a hand against him, who had never hurt him, was forever lost to him. He, the single light in a world filled with meaningless darkness, the first brush of higher knowledge that had led him out of his animalistic deplorability and had shaped him into something better, had been wrenched from him. _His_ Harry had been stolen from him, as good as dead now, untouchable as he was; as good as dead by his own hands, just like that innocent man who he had murdered.

A tragically feral grin split his face and he drew his wand as he stalked toward the still celebrating crowd. Through the red haze that was settling in his mind he saw Snape stiffen and reach for something in the pocket of his robe, but he ignored him as he drew his magic closer to him, encasing it with the overwhelming hatred he felt at the loss of his lover. His wand began to glow a sickly green and the Death Eaters on the fringes of the crowd fled for their lives at the sight of him.

Even as the portkey attached to his choker activated, he lashed out, striking a random Death Eater with his curse.

Without Harry, all he was, once more, was a…

_**Monster.**_

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...The real tragedy here is that Marcus has never known who his most beloved person truly is. Only time will tell is these two self-destructive lovers can overcome their self-inflicted travesties and, even if they can, if their bond built on mistaken preconceptions of each other can survive.

Is the power of love comparable to the oppressing weight of grief?

Ariaeris~


End file.
